


Honor - not for me (never has been)

by QuenchiestCactusJuice99



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Naruto
Genre: A bag of rats I tell you, And works as a nice healer lady, Blood I guess and a murder at the beginning, Blowing smoke out his nostrils as he stares me down, Charlie and Harry show up eventually I swear, Dragons yay, I don’t know ask the plot bunny, Neville will be here too maybe?, Sakura goes to the HP!Verse!, Shimura Danzou is a ratbag, Tis the season for murder and treason, Who wants a bag of rats?, Zuko would be so offended by this title, certainly not me
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-10-25 10:54:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17723840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuenchiestCactusJuice99/pseuds/QuenchiestCactusJuice99
Summary: A shinobi, first and foremost, is loyal to their Kage. Their honor demands it of them.Or: Charlie is absolutely smitten with the strong, pretty woman who can heal with just a touch of her fingers and gives that secretive little smile when someone asks where she learned wandless healing charms.Neville is in awe of the healer his grandmother hires as a babysitter for him, as she seemed to think it safer, who can light the air in swirls of green and gold and teaches him to do the same with a fond smirk.And no one, least of all them, knows what this has changed.





	1. The Beginning of It All

Haruno Sakura is, always has been, and always will be, a shinobi, first and foremost. Before anything else, and above all.

 

The shinobi way was Haruno Sakura’s then, Haruno Sakura’s now, Haruno Sakura’s forever. She was to obey her Hokage at all costs. Treason was only unthinkable until it wasn’t - until a shinobi was pushed too far. Haruno Sakura, despite her bloodied hands, did not seem too far. Her Hokage is her direct authority, now and forever. (Or as long as she can stand it.)

 

Haruno Sakura is also a medic - ‘I will save who I can, and try for those I can’t’ - but her job comes first. Healer’s hands tear down armies without pause if so commanded by their Hokage. Her honor demands it of her.

 

But her Hokage is a lying, cheating scumbag, and her team - her brothers - are gone, lost to the winds, one chasing power and the other chasing him. Years have passed. Yet still, her honor demands that she serve her Hokage without insubordination. She has served Godaime Hokage Shimura Danzou without a hint of rebellion, with what appears to be undying loyalty, as her honor demands.

 

(But what is honor to a shinobi, who backstabs and tricks and traps and deceives and murders without thought? What is honor to a shinobi, treacherous beings that they are, who don’t even blink when they rip out another’s throat?

 

She knocks on his door, and kneels, bowed so low her forehead nearly touches the ground, hands placed evenly beside it, and she says, “May I ask a favor of your graciousness, Hokage-sama?” And he agrees easily for his most obedient shinobi outside of ROOT, and as the man continues writing something out, she takes a deep breath.

 

The floor cracks beneath her feet as she is propelled foreword, and the punch actually catches him off guard. His sword pierces straight through her heart, but Shimura Danzou’s head is splattered across the Hokage’s desk, and Sakura, with a sickly smile and blood dripping from her lips, utters her final words.

 

“Please die.”)

 

Sakura had also spent years out of the village, training under Senju Tsunade as per her and Danzou’s agreement. This was a mistake on Danzou’s part, seeing her potential and sending her to someone who could coax it out in hopes of obtaining a weapon to replace the missing jinchuuriki. Finally becoming Hokage had gotten to his head. Now he didn’t have one.

 

Haruno Sakura, though, as she lay dying, wondered about other shinobi. A shinobi could kill without remorse. She had always assumed that there was just something wrong with her, that she’d gotten messed up somehow. She never had been able to do that. But she took pride in knowing that with _this_ murder... with _this_ , she didn’t even feel the slightest amount of guilt.

 

Maybe, she thinks, eyes dimming, her something messed up was back to normal now.

 

The satisfied smile on her face stayed even as the light in her eyes disappeared completely, and Haruno Sakura knew for certain, for the last time, that she was, always had been, and always would be, a shinobi, first and foremost. Shinobi followed their Kages, not murdered them, some would argue, but...

 

The shinobi ‘Code of Honor’ was stupid, because really -

 

What is honor, to a shinobi?

 


	2. Failure (But I’m Not)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charlie Weasley is not, in any way, shape or form, crazy. With all these clues adding up...
> 
> Neville Longbottom is lacking in self confidence. Sakura is reminded of a time when she was the same, and decides to start fixing that. It’ll be a long road, but progress is progress.

Charlie Weasley is of the opinion that people nowadays are far too human-oriented for their own good. The first time he laid eyes on the dragons in his picture books, roaring silently and breathing flame and batting at each other’s heads like playful cats, he fell in love with both dragons and other beasts as well, and developed the rather odd - to even his family, bewildered but accepting as they were of his creature obsession - habit of comparing anyone he meets to beasts. He had learned by the time he was nine to keep these observations to himself, as humans quite misunderstood his remarks and even compliments, and reacted with anger and indignation.

 

When he first sees Professor McGonagall outside Hogwarts’ doors, he thinks - hippogriff. ‘Respect and you will be respected, but hurt one of my own and I will primly, viciously tear you to shreds.’

 

When he meets Professor Snape in Potions, he thinks - lethifold. The Living Shroud, a silent shadow that leaves behind no trace of itself or its victims.

 

When he meets Professor Dumbledore, he thinks - demiguise. Able to turn invisible at will, slinking away from bad situations and into other people’s business. (He... doesn’t like Dumbledore, not really. It’s not even a strong dislike, but Charlie just... doesn’t trust him very much.)

 

He keeps all of this to himself. 

 

Ginny, he imagines, a kneazle. Possessive, pleased to be groomed, but stretching claws and needle-sharp teeth to any who threaten or encroach upon her territory.

 

Ron, he imagines, a niffler. Hoarding everything of his with prejudice, attracted to the shiniest things, but liking attention, nearly craving it.

 

The twins had always confused him. Or rather, the way others saw them confused him. Never just Fred or just George. To them, it was FredandGeorge, always.

 

Fred, he imagines, a pixie. Wicked little creature, intent on discord.

 

George, he imagines, a fairy. Mischievous little prankster, intent on chaos.

 

The same, but different; always, _always_ different. Charlie can’t tell them apart if they aren’t together and he’s not paying close attention to the way they act for at least five minutes, because pixies and fairies are quite similar but most definitely differing. 

 

Percy, he imagines, a nundu. Sly and sneaky and silent, able to devour a human whole if need arises, if loved ones are threatened; not a pack creature by nature but enduring the discomfort for his family’s sake.

 

Bill, he imagines, a sphinx. The ultimate riddle solver, roguish and aggressive when someone attempts to thieve away his treasures.

 

His mother, he imagines, a basilisk. Able to shrivel insides with a single glare, sneaky as Percy when she wants to be and noticeable as a jarvey when she doesn’t.

 

His father, he imagines, a griffin. Easily distracted, playful, curious, but intelligent, and vicious when pushed.

 

And he keeps it all to himself, locked away in a little silver chest behind his little human heart. And he has never been able to break this habit.

 

So the first time Charlie sees her, far from his family in Romania, he thinks - dryad. Gentle touch and kind smiles, hair the color of the Japanese sakura tree blossoms and skin like the clouds they represent. 

 

He almost wants to offer to escort her back to her tree, but that could be perceived as rude, couldn’t it? For all his creature love, he doesn’t know much about dryads, myth-occupiers they are. (Unproven, but so were merfolk.)

 

The first time he sees her in action, he’s cut open a knuckle on a sharp piece of something or other in the ‘horde’ his team keeps in one of the storage rooms, having collected many odd things that none of them need or even really know what are. _We’re just as bad as the dragons,_ they joke.

 

He raises his hand for her sheepishly. She rolls her eyes, quirks her lips, and skims a hand over his skin, smirking a little as he watches his hand knit together in shock.

 

It is almost better than if she really is a dryad. The lady - Sakura, he learns, and isn’t that just proof? - is here to stay for three months at least as their on-hand healer, and really, what else could she be?

 

She brushes deceptively delicate-looking fingers over cuts and scrapes and gashes and burns, and they all stitch together like the injuries never happened.

 

“Wandless healing,” Someone whispers in awe, and Charlie wants to laugh, because dryads have never needed conduits for their healing. Sakura’s eyes crinkle at the edges and she smirks, but says nothing, and that is as telling to Charlie as all her other strange habits.

 

XxXxXxXxXOoOoOoOoO 

 

Neville has never met anyone like Miss Sakura.

 

_A healer,_ his grandmother sniffed, _so you don’t trip down the stairs or something equally as clumsy._

 

Neville had not been expecting her hair, or her smile, or anything about her. She colors the air around them and gets him to dance with her under the lights, laughing.

 

He is happy until he remembers how abysmal his own magic is.

 

He struggles with even accidental magic, and tells her so, but she studies him, watching, waiting, and something about it makes Neville hesitant to shrink under her jade eyes. She smiles with toothy approval when he doesn’t, sits him down and has him ‘meditate’ and he is shocked when he can feel something. For real.

 

It slides through his fingers like particularly stubborn water, but it’s _there._

 

_See?_ She tells him. _You’re every bit as powerful as you think you’re not._

 

Neville has never met anyone who’s told him he’s anything but less than his father, anything but too shy, too clumsy, too forgetful. Too _weak._

 

_You’re every bit as powerful as you think you’re not._

 

So no. Neville has never met anyone like Miss Sakura, and he doesn’t think he ever will, whether it’s her sad smiles whenever she thinks he’s not watching, the vivacious color of her hair, her tendency to finger-comb her hair in a way that tries to cover her forehead, or the strange way she radiates tired peace all the time.

 

(He doesn’t think he’d mind meeting other people who don’t think he’s a failure, though. It’s a nice feeling.)

 

“Do you live near here?” Neville asks one day, and she smiles at him, calm and happy.

 

“Not near here necessarily,” She muses, “I have a place in Diagon Alley. But I do stop by a dragon reserve in Romania from time to time. I worked there for a couple months; the healers they have right now are understaffed and out of their league. Not sure how they got a job at a dragon reserve anyway.”

 

Neville especially likes how blunt she is. She doesn’t tiptoe around anything, and if she doesn’t want him to know something, she tells him so.

 

“Do you go over often?” Neville wonders, and Sakura laughs, shaking her head.

 

“No. Too often and I’m sure I’ll give the Weasley boy a heart attack. He thinks I’m a magical creature of some kind.” Neville doesn’t entirely disagree with this Weasley. Miss Sakura is very out of the norm.

 

“Well,” Miss Sakura says cheerily, “That’s your grandmother now,” and if Neville concentrates, he can feel the strong thrum from his grandmother’s presence coming into the house as well.

 

He grins. Miss Sakura, perceptive as she is, quirks an eyebrow. “Feel it?”

 

Neville’s face heats up as he nods. Miss Sakura snickers. “Nothing to be embarrassed about, kid. You’re improving. That’s good.”

 

“Th-thanks,” He mumbles back.

 

“Chin up,” Miss Sakura says kindly. “Think about what you’re going to say before you say it. Make it come out in one piece. Those are _your_ words.”

 

“Back straight,” He recites to her. “Eye contact. Even if only for six seconds.”

 

Even just long enough to say his name.

 

Miss Sakura smiles again, gentler. “You got it. Let’s go say hi to Madam Augusta, shall we?”

 

 


End file.
